Siro, David Ignatius [ereader for android TXT] 📗

“Let me say the obvious, please, Miss Barnes,” said Viktor. “You have only one way to save yourself, and that is to cooperate with us. In that event, the prosecutor may be willing to reduce the charges, perhaps dismiss them altogether. But that is your only chance.”

“Go away,” said Anna. Her voice was brittle.

“I admire your loyalty and self-control, but it is misplaced. Your colleagues have betrayed you. You have been manipulated and abandoned. Frankly, there is little we can gain from your cooperation, since we already know all the important aspects of your case. But still, we give you this opportunity.”

“Go away,” she said again. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

And she didn’t, not that day or in the weeks that followed. Viktor returned several more times, coaxing and cajoling her with new tidbits of information about Stone and Hoffman and even Alan Taylor; and then threatening her more directly. With each additional visit, Viktor reminded her more of Stone, which only stiffened her will to resist. When Viktor’s smooth insinuations failed to elicit her cooperation, the Soviets got nasty. They moved Anna to a smaller cell—with a smelly hole in the floor rather than a toilet and a flat wooden board to sleep on rather than a mattress. They left the light on all night, and woke her up at strange times, and one day, after denying her food for twenty-four hours, brought in a piece of meat crawling with maggots. But still Anna refused to cooperate. She was, in her way, dead to the world—beyond grief over Aram’s death or anger at Stone’s betrayal. All the fires in her had been banked.

46

It took Margaret Houghton only a few weeks to discover what had happened to Anna. She wasn’t supposed to know, but Margaret was good at getting around such barriers. That was what had made her career so successful. She operated at the margins, standing quietly aside in the compartments where secrets were held, waiting to be helpful. And people told her things. In this case, she pieced together from a half dozen people how Anna had gone to Armenia and been arrested. More important, she learned that the agency had no clear plan about how to get her out. For once, the old boys and the bureaucrats on the seventh floor seemed to be in agreement. The sensible plan, they concurred, was to do nothing.

Margaret thus found herself Anna’s sole advocate and lobbyist within the clandestine service. As she talked with colleagues who remembered other, similar cases involving NOCs, she became convinced that it would take a significant American concession to get Anna released—a trade for a Soviet spy, or something else that Moscow wanted—and she pursued this strategy tirelessly.

She began by going to see Edward Stone one Saturday afternoon at his house in Georgetown. Her own house was on Q Street, just three blocks away, and she walked the short distance in a sleek black fur coat; her hair, in a neat bun, was sparkling from a trip that morning to the beauty parlor. It was a chilly December day, and Stone was sitting in front of the fire in his library, drinking tea, when Margaret rang the bell. Stone welcomed her graciously, with his usual protective show of good manners. But to Margaret, who had known him nearly forty years, he looked vaguely uneasy. She noticed something else about him, which had never before occurred to her. He looked old.

“Shame on you,” she said when they were seated in the library.

“That’s not a very friendly greeting,” he answered. “Perhaps you would like some tea.”

“Yes, please.”

Stone called to his wife to bring the teapot, but she had already retreated upstairs. Mrs. Stone generally tried to avoid Margaret Houghton’s company. She had been convinced, for much of her married life, that her husband and Margaret had once been lovers. Stone waited for Margaret to volunteer to get the teapot, and when she didn’t, he grumpily went out to get it himself. He set the tea tray down in front of Margaret and let her pour.

“I’m very sorry about what happened to Anna, if that’s what you mean,” he said.

“You should be. It’s your fault.”

“I can understand how you might think that, Margaret, but you’re quite wrong. In fact, the opposite is true. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to discuss the details.”

“I already know the details.”

“Then you should know that I opposed Anna’s notion of recruiting this Armenian doctor, and agreed only because she insisted. When the operation went sour, I warned her against any attempt to rescue the man. Again, she didn’t listen. I feel very sorry for Anna. She was a great favorite of mine. But it’s not my fault, and I’m afraid there is nothing I can do at this point to help her. Except to keep quiet and play along with the cover story that she’s an innocent tourist.”

Margaret shook her head.

“That’s nonsense,” she said. “Of course there’s something you can do. You can go to Hinkle and tell him to make whatever deal is necessary to get Anna out. She’s a prisoner, for heaven’s sake! You can’t leave one of your troops behind on the battlefield just because it’s inconvenient to rescue her. You of all people!”

“I’ve already been to see the director. To be frank, he is the one who insists that we do nothing. From his standpoint, this case is a potential disaster. Anna is a NOC. If we trade for her, we confirm to Moscow that we were running an illegal network inside the Soviet Union. Besides, there’s an aspect of this case you may not be aware of.”

“What’s that?”

“This crazy Armenian friend of Anna’s wanted explosives. They were part of what we sent in. We can’t admit to the Soviets that we were involved in such an operation. It would be ruinous. And imagine what Congress would say.”

“So what do you plan